Hey, would you look at that! Another serious one. Wherever did that come from?

Oh, right: since I've done Northern Ireland's backstory, I figured I might as well touch on England's a bit as well. I always wondered if his Empire-obsessed phase had anything to do with all the invasions he went through as a kid, and I decided that yeah, it probably did. So this is sort of my take on the whole British Empire thing. Please let me know what you think!

To the United Kingdom, the Commonwealth was like an extended family. Nieces, nephews, cousins, aunts and uncles who live overseas and only see each other for family meetings and to compete in the occasional sporting event. Maybe you don't know everything about them, maybe you're only on a Christmas-card basis, but you have history and no-one forgets that. Which is why, once a year, England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland made sure to have a Commonwealth reunion party.

Scotland sat back and smiled lazily, letting his eyes wander across the table. Wales and New Zealand were talking animatedly - aboot sheep, probably - like they'd never been separated; those two had always got along like a house on fire. Australia was busy trying to butt into their conversation, making crude jokes about the exact nature of their love for sheep. Northern Ireland, relaxed for once in his life, was talking to Canada, and from the snippets of conversation that reached Scotland's ears it seemed to have something to do with having annoying southern neighbours. And at the head of the table was England, trying his best to hide a smile as he took in the empty plates, the full glasses and his family, for once laughing and talking together like all the worries of the world had finally been forgotten.

It was nice, really, decided Scotland. He'd never admit it, but he loved family events and could get a little more sentimental than he'd like over the past. He could remember when he'd first met Australia, still a loud, overconfident little boy that England had fought hard to control, and wondered why he bothered. It had only occurred to him later to consider that maybe he reminded his brother of the other loud, overconfident little boy that he had failed to make part of the family. He remembered New Zealand, always with that ridiculous hair that curled up into horn-like shapes, as a tiny kid who had attached himself to Wales and never let go. He remembered Seychelles, always the pretty, lighthearted girl with constant daydreams and an unfaltering smile. There was Canada too, easy to forget and to ignore, never speaking up for himself but always there for you if you cared to notice him, and South Africa, never entirely responsive to England's lessons in etiquette, preferring to spend his time climbing trees and playing make-believe games outdoors.

And India, of course, but she hadn't grown up in their house. She was always the beautiful young woman sitting next to him, she was always determined and driven but quietly softhearted, and she would never agree to go out with him!

"Come on," he said, turning his smile on her. "Dinnae listen ter what he says-" he jerked a finger towards England, "-I'm nae all bad. Go on, give me a chance."

"I've been turning you down for centuries," she sighed, folding her arms and refusing to look at him. "What makes you think I'll say yes this time?"

That was a good question. Scotland gave it the thought it deserved. "Um... because I'll be an independent nation too soon and we can form an alliance?"

She actually did turn to face him this time. Victory! "What? You're really seceding?" And before he could stop her, she called up the table, "England, is this true?"

"Is what true?"

"That Scotland's going to become independent."

England frowned at him in confusion; Scotland grimaced inwardly but decided to stand his ground. "Of course not. I take care of all his economics and external affairs. He wouldn't know how."

"Hey! I would! Ye just never give me the chance ter prove it!"

"I've given you plenty of chances and you've blown them all. The last time I left you in charge of this house - and Wales and Northern Ireland were even there to help you - you threw a party and ended up passed out on the front lawn while the house was almost completely destroyed."

India's head snapped back to Scotland, waiting for him to continue the verbal game of ping pong. He felt heat rising up his neck and snapped back, "I just wanted ter meet some other countries fer once! Maybe I wouldnae have done it if ye let me actually represent myself!"

"Maybe I'd let you represent yourself if you weren't so immature! Why would you even want to leave this house anyway? I give you everything you need here."

The rest of the table had stopped talking now and was staring at the heated exchange going on between the two brothers. Wales had paused in discussing the benefits of Welsh White Mountain wool versus Merino wool with New Zealand, Australia's last joke had died in his throat, Northern Ireland and Canada had temporarily forgotten about their siblings and even Seychelles's smile had faded slightly. Neither Scotland nor England noticed the change in atmosphere.

"Have ye considered that I dinnae need ter be given everythin' by ye? That maybe I'd rather have some sort of pride instead of relyin' on ye all the time? Ye smother us, England. We dinnae need ye as much as ye think we dae, ye ken!"

"Of course you do. You wouldn't have asked me for a union if you didn't need someone to tie your shoelaces and clean up your messes."

Scotland's face was fully red now, his voice loud enough to make Wales and Canada flinch. "I dinnae need any of that! I asked ye fer a union centuries ago - I've changed since then! And I was fine fer centuries before I came tae live with ye!"

England was trying very hard not to shout and failing miserably. "I suppose you were, weren't you? Hiding up in your frozen mountains while I dealt with all the invaders! People didn't leave you alone because they were scared of you, it was because you're an insufferable git who can't admit that no-one likes him! Face it, you're a coward!"

Scotland had been called many things in his life. 'Git' was England's standard nickname for him, so he was used to that. He'd been called 'thick', 'barbarian', 'tosser', and he suspected he'd had a whole variety of insults thrown at him in Welsh and Gaelic. He took them standing up and gave as good as he got. But if England was going to insinuate that he, Scotland, Alba, a proud nation with a long history of fierce, brave warriors, was a coward, then he was going to show him just how fearless he could be.

"A coward?" he said, laughing quietly, his vision practically red from all the blood pumping through his brain. He was sick of this. He was sick of being treated like an inferior, of being put down and insulted and treated like a wayward child. "Nae. Ye're the coward, Albion. All of this - yer Empire, yer Commonwealth, everyone here - is because ye're so. Damn. Scared."

"I don't know what you-"

"Dae ye remember when France invaded ye? Centuries ago noo, that was. Ye were only little back then. I forget, hoo many people have ye had tryin' ter conquer ye? Ye've had Rome, Denmark and who-knows-who-else all runnin' aroond, never quite strong enough tae beat ye but never weak enough for ye to beat them. But France did it, didnae he? I remember seein' ye then, sittin' in the grass and tryin' yer best tae memorise French words and lookin' like the saddest, most defeated thing I've ever seen."

"I was never-"

"So then," Scotland raised his voice, interrupting him, "ye came oot o' the Dark Ages different tae us. All yer French and Danish and Latin and German made ye hardly even Celtic anymore and ye knew it. Ye'd lost yer language and yer culture and ye had nothin' on us. So ye worked yer arse off makin' yerself strong and powerful because ye'd sworn tae yerself - dinnae deny it! - that ye were never goin' tae be conquered again. And that's why they're here!" He glowered around at the silent Commonwealth, all watching his tirade with wide eyes and terrified faces. "Because the only way ye could be sure ye'd stay independent was by forcin' others tae work fer ye. By grabbin' power wherever ye went, makin' yerself stronger and stronger and stronger."

It was Northern Ireland who spoke next, getting his words in quickly before Scotland could get his momentum back up again. "I think it's a bit unfair to say that-"

"Unfair?" Scotland really laughed now, staring incredulously at Ireland. "Ye think it's unfair? Ye're missin' the point. He was so desperate tae build himself up that he forgot the place he was tryin' tae protect in the first place. He was so busy thinkin' aboot Africa and China and India that he barely even noticed ye and Sooth starvin' tae death."

Northern Ireland's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, any words he might've been planning to say now lodged in his throat.

"And then he let ye all go and started suckin' up to America, because noo he was the strong one and ye couldnae keep up. And ye're all still here!" he said, looking back around at the Commonwealth. "Ye're still listenin' tae him like he's nae just a washed-up relic past his glory days. And that," he spat, shooting the word up the table at England like a bullet, "is why I want tae secede, Albion. Because I dinnae want tae stick aroond just because it makes ye feel like people like ye! Because it makes ye feel safe."

He breathed out, long and slow, all the words he needed to say now said except for one last sentence. "And ye call me a coward."

There was a long silence. Scotland was strangely out of breath, feeling more like he'd just run a marathon than shout at his little brother. Everyone was pale and shocked, but no-one compared to England. Every ounce of colour had drained from his usually moderately pale face and he was just staring at Scotland as though he was some sort of horrifying hallucination. And then, just as Wales got up the nerve to choke out, "England..." he pushed back his chair, got to his feet and left the room.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a room full of the most silent silence Scotland had ever heard in his life.

Wales opened his mouth again but Northern Ireland beat him to it. "You absolute eejit."

Everyone's eyes were on Scotland now. He looked around at them, feeling vaguely uncomfortable all of a sudden. "What? Just because I figured oot the truth dinnae mean that-"

"We all know the truth, Scotland! I know, Wales knows... hell, even South knows! But we had the tact to keep it quiet! You didn't need to shout it at him right in front of our entire Commonwealth!"

"Oh, come on. It's never been our Commonwealth. It was always his."

"That makes it worse. Go and apologise to him right now!"

"Nae! Why should I? All I did was tell the truth!"

"Because," said Wales, joining in now, "it's not the truth. Maybe it was at one point, but not any more."

"Ye're kiddin' me, it's still-"

"No, it's not. Do you remember World War Two, Scotland? The Blitz?"

Of course he did. That time hadn't been easy for any of them, but it was England who had been reduced to a bleeding wreck, not even able to stand up on his own let alone go out and help his people, as bomb after bomb rained down on London. "I dinnae see hoo that has anythin' ter dae with-"

"It has everything to do with it. That was when he was forced to remember the Isles again. His own people were so brave and so stubborn in defending him, refusing to give him up to Germany even though it looked for a bit like we couldn't possibly win, that he remembered what he'd been fighting for. That's why he let everyone get their independence back after the end of the war rather than try to keep them by force, like Portugal did, remember?"

"What we're trying to say," said Ireland, "is that England can be a tosser sometimes, but he's not evil. He forgot about us but he forgot about himself too. Now that he's remembered, Wales and I have the maturity to forgive him, take him back and refrain from pointing out every insecurity he's ever had in front of his entire former Empire."

Scotland stared down at his empty plate, a peculiar feeling squirming in his stomach, then brought his eyes up to meet the accusing glares of his little brothers. He mumbled something under his breath.

"Excuse me?" asked Ireland.

"I didnae mean tae... I mean, I just... Sorry."

"Why are you apologising to us? Go and find your brother. Now!"

Scotland jumped to his feet and followed Ireland's order without question, hurrying from the room and hearing the quiet babble of talk resume as he left. Probably wondering if he'd actually get the guts to apologise, or if England had thrown himself out of a window yet. He ignored them, opening doors and poking his head into rooms as he searched for his brother.

He found him in the cupboard under the stairs, the same one that he'd locked them in so many times, sitting on a box and staring blankly at the opposite wall. He didn't even look up as Scotland came in and slowly shut the door behind him, wondering what to do next.

"Um..." he said wisely, taking a seat on a sturdy-looking plastic bucket. "I just came tae... I knoo that... well... sorry." There. I said it.

England looked up as if he'd only just noticed him there. "What for?"

"Fer bein' such an arse back there."

"Don't be sorry. You were only telling the truth."

And then he was silent again, just staring off into space with that blank, empty look in his eyes that scared Scotland more than blazing anger. He bit his lip. "Are ye okay?"

"I'm fine. You get back out there. A party needs a good host. I'm not being very hospitable at the moment, am I? Just sitting here... so rude..."

Ye gods, I think I broke him.

"...And after all, I do want them as my friends. Not my colonies, my friends... Why don't I want colonies any more, Scotland? After the war, the Empire just collapsed and I didn't even really care... Why was that?"

Scotland thought about this. "I reckon it's 'cause ye didnae need them any more. Ye colonised and conquered 'cause ye wanted tae get stronger, but then ye realised that ye had yer people and ye had us and ye didnae need more than that."

England listened quietly, letting his words sink in and resonate with the tangled mess of age-old feelings spinning incomprehensible webs through his brain. The sound was calming. He raised his head to look at his older brother. "You can secede if you want, Scotland. I won't try to stop you."

"Secede? Nah. Maybe someday, but I think I like it better here fer noo. I'd get pure dead bored on my own."

England smiled weakly, and for a moment Scotland saw a flicker of emotion return to his eyes. Relief washed over him; he might've damaged him, but not irreparably. "Glad to hear it. This house would be a lot less interesting without you around."

Scotland knew full well he'd never have said that under normal circumstances, but that didn't make him grin at his brother any less. "Come on," he said, standing up and holding a hand out to help him up off his box. "Let's get back to the party. They'll be wondering where we are."

England looked at his hand, then ignored it completely and got to his feet by himself. "Yes, that's a good idea. We wouldn't want to worry them."

Scotland watched him leave, then stepped out of the cupboard and closed the door behind him. England was annoying, bossy and far too proud, but then Scotland never knew when to stop telling the truth. They all had their flaws. But, after all this time, his little brother was finally learning to stand up on his own, and maybe someday Scotland would too.